


If Only...

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Cheating, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9360485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: The reader calls the only person who can save her. Dean Winchester.





	

 

If only things had been different.

* * *

_ You met him thirty miles outside of Houston at a little motel off of Interstate 10 after you finished up a hunt further south. He was on you the minute you walked through the door, tugging at your clothes, grumbling about it being too long since he’d seen you, since he’d had you in his bed, something he was quick to remedy. _

_ His kisses were impatient, demanding, hungry, his hands roaming over every inch of your body, peeling your clothes off of you, kicking them aside as he walked you backwards to the bed. He wasted no time in getting you to scream his name, his head between your legs, your nails digging into his shoulders.  _

_ His touch was like fire on your skin, igniting a need like none you’d ever known. Your back arched and your fingers grasped onto his broad shoulders, a moan falling from your lips. He eased into you, stretching you open, filling you completely, his kisses devouring you, claiming you, making you his. He moved slowly, carefully, taking his time, circling his hips, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, closer to coming. _

_ You slid your hands down his back, cupping his ass, squeezing, urging him to move faster, harder, to give you more. You could take whatever he could give you, you wanted whatever he could give you, because with him, it was never enough. With him, you always wanted more. _

_ He rose up on his knees, his hands sliding under your ass, lifting you, burying his cock in your warm heat to the root, pounding into you until you were screaming his name a second time, your body nearly convulsing with the power of the orgasm. _

_ His body shook, a tremor racing through him, a low growl rumbling through his chest, his body going stiff as he came, his hands bruisingly tight on you, leaving marks you would have to explain away later. He fell to your side, pulling you into his arms, kissing your shoulders, your neck, your jaw. He nuzzled his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply, and pressed a kiss to your temple. _

_ Sex with him was always good, really good, amazing, better than any you’d ever had. Being with him was easy, uncomplicated. He got you and you got him. You didn’t have to hide who you really were, lie about what you did. You could be yourself. _

_ You wanted to spend every minute, every second with him, be with him until the end of time. You felt complete when you were with him, happy. _

_ You were in love with Dean Winchester. _

* * *

You stumbled down the back alley, trying doors as you walked, praying one of them would open. Your heart was pounding in your ears, your blood rushing through your veins, your skin felt like it was being slowly peeled from your body, your mouth was dry, your tongue thick, the pain lancing through your head nearly bringing you to your knees.

Broken glass crunched beneath your feet, drawing your attention to a broken window. You smashed the remaining glass with the butt end of your gun, climbed onto the trash cans, and slid through the window. Your jeans caught on the glass, ripping open, the jagged edge slicing a deep cut on your thigh.

You bit your lip to hold back the tears, dropped to the floor, and limped across the wide expanse to the dark shadows in the corner. You slid down the wall, moaning as pain shot through every inch of you. You pulled your phone from your pocket, hit the contact button, and then the number of the only person who could save you.

Dean Winchester.

* * *

_ You spent the night and most of the next day together, finally crawling out of the bed, out of each other’s arms, an hour before check out. _

_ “You know, I’ve been thinking, you should come hunt with me and Sam for a while.” He glanced at you over his shoulder while he shoved his clothes in his duffel bag. “If you want. I thought it would make things, I don’t know, easier.” _

_ You were surprised, so surprised that you dropped to the end of the bed, speechless. That had come totally out of left field. You opened your mouth to speak, then snapped it shut again. _

_ It was now or never. _

* * *

It had been more than six months since you’d seen or talked to Dean. Six months, one week, and four days since he had walked out of your life without looking back. Six months, one week, and four days since he had stopped answering your calls and returning your texts. Six months, one week, and four days since he’d stopped loving you.

You pushed your hands through your hair, leaned your elbows on your knees, and stared at the ground, your tears falling to the dirty floor beneath you, the blood evident in your tears. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out. You couldn’t hold it off much longer, couldn’t stop the insanity raging through you. If Dean didn’t answer your call soon, it was over.

* * *

_ How had you so colossally screwed up your life? _

_ Dean was staring at you, waiting. Waiting for an answer. And you were sitting on the end of the bed, staring at him, wondering if you could tell him what you’d been hiding from him for months, tell him the one thing that was holding you back. _

_ You squeezed your hands together, your knuckles turning white, the nails digging half-moons into the palms. You gnawed at your lower lip, the taste of blood sharp on your tongue.  _

_ “Y/N?” He took two steps closer and kicked the side of your booted foot. “Where’d you go? I scared you, didn’t I?” he chuckled. “Too soon?” _

_ “No, no, that’s not it,” you shook your head. “I just...I need to tell you something. Something I’ve been keeping from you.” _

_ Dean sat beside you, his elbows on your knees, staring at you. “Okay, spill.” _

_ You turned to face him, cupped his cheek, leaned over, and kissed him. You held his hand, tracing your fingers over his knuckles.  _

_ “I’m married, Dean.” _

* * *

He wasn’t answering your phone calls or your text messages. Sam wasn’t even answering you, most likely at Dean’s urging. Not that you were surprised. It had been like that for months. Dean had set a strict no contact rule and he’d stuck to it. Period.

Not that you didn’t deserve it. God, did you deserve it.

Pain doubled you over, shooting through you. Your phone dropped to the floor beside you as you fell to your side. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, moaning and writhing as the pain continued rolling through every muscle, every bone, every nerve ending, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to pull yourself together.

The phone beside your head went off, so loud it made your eardrums throb. You reached for it, stabbing at the buttons, anything to end the incessant ringing, anything to make the pain in your head stop. You put it to your ear, cringing as Dean’s voice echoed through your head, so loud it was like he was screaming.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he yelled. “I thought I made it pretty fucking clear that I didn’t have anything else to say to you. Stop fucking calling me, stop calling Sam, just stop.”

You knew he was going to hang up and if he did, you were dead. 

“Dean, wait, please?” you begged.

You could hear his heavy sigh through the phone, but he paused long enough for you to blurt out your location and that you were in trouble, deep trouble, the kind of trouble that would get you dead, the kind of trouble only Dean could save you from. 

“Sam and I are on our way,” he said after the briefest pause. “Stay put.”

“Thank you, Dean, thank you,” you murmured.

“I’m only doing it because I’m your only option,” he spat. “That’s it. Nothing more.” The phone disconnected.

Maybe you wouldn’t die today.

* * *

_ Dean pushed himself away from you so abruptly that he fell off the bed. He shoved himself to his feet, backing away from you like you had the plague. _

_ “You’re what?” he snarled. _

_ You rose to your feet and took a couple of steps toward him, but he backed up further, his hands up in front of him.  _

_ “Let me explain,” you said. _

_ “Explain?” he snapped. “Yeah, you need to fucking explain. Now.” _

_ “Yes, I’m married,” you said. “He doesn’t know I’m a hunter, he doesn’t understand the life. You and I, Dean, we have a connection, a connection I don’t have with him. Please, please don’t take that away. We can figure this out, I swear to God we can.” _

_ “No, we can’t.” He pushed past you, grabbed his bag, and swung it over his shoulder. “I can’t and won’t be with a married woman. Period. You’ve been lying to me for months. I can’t trust you. Have a nice life, Y/N.” _

_ You jumped when the door slammed, rattling the windows. _

* * *

It was too long, too long. You weren’t going to survive. The urges were too overwhelming, the need too strong. You couldn’t stop the inevitable.

When you heard the door slam into the wall, heard your name being called, your instinct was to hide, an instinct that was too strong to overcome. You hurried up a narrow set of stairs, crouching on the landing, hidden deep in the shadows. 

You could hear them coming, hear their hearts beating, hear their quiet breaths, the blood in their veins, the scuff of their boots along the rubble-coated floor, the air changing in the room as they rounded the corner and came to a stop right beneath you. You could hear them talking, hear your name, feel their confusion. Dean called your name again, the sound making you flinch. Without thinking, you rose to your feet and launched yourself off the landing, falling on Dean’s back, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your legs around his waist, your teeth, the fangs, sliding into his jugular vein, the sweet taste of his blood sliding into your mouth and down your throat, finally, finally fulfilling the need that had been pulsating deep inside you for too long.

“Dean!” Sam yelled. 

His fingers twisted in the back of your shirt, and he yanked you as hard as he could, pulling you off of his brother’s back. You hit the ground, a scream of unbridled rage tearing from your throat, struggling to get back to Dean, back to his blood. You were almost on your feet again when Sam slammed you back down and fell on top of you, his two hundred plus pounds pinning you to the ground.

You snarled, clawing and fighting, until Dean leaned over you and put a machete to your throat.

“Y/N, what did you do?” he growled, one hand on the machete, another pressed to the wound on his neck. “What the fuck did you do? You fed. We can’t help you now.”

You nodded gingerly and wrapped your hand around his wrist. You could feel it, the power, the need, raging through you, and you had to resist the urge to throw him off of you. You knew what you wanted him to do, what you needed him to do. Death was the only way. It was what you’d been chasing for months. You’d finally found it.

“If anyone could have saved me, it would have been you,” you whispered.

“I can’t save you now,” he murmured.

“Then kill me,” you said. “Please.”

Dean nodded. The last thing you heard was the sound of the machete cutting through the air.


End file.
